


trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

by sebstanau



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Boys In Love, Cats, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Neil Josten Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:32:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebstanau/pseuds/sebstanau
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Andrew Minyard did not completely hate Neil Josten.He only hated certain aspects of him.Like the way he has no sense of self-preservation.Or how he never shuts up, no matter what the consequences could be.And the way he made Andrew feel, like Andrew was worth something. Like Andrew wasn’t nothing, he was everything.or a short fic with cats, cuddles and cigarettes





	trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> ya girl actually wrote something for the first time in forever!! my writers block is still bad but had a temporarily one hour lift ajlhfkads
> 
> also everyones also talking bout how hard of a character andrew is to write and,,, u honestly odnt know unelss u tried it i just tried to made him as fluffy as possible

Contrary to popular belief, Andrew Minyard did not  _ completely _ hate Neil Josten.

He only hated certain aspects of him.

Like the way he has no sense of self-preservation.

Or how he never shuts up, no matter what the consequences could be.

And the way he made Andrew feel, like Andrew was worth something. Like Andrew wasn’t nothing, he was everything.

But, when Andrew hates something, he hates it as wholeheartedly as his faded character could feel. Which, well, it wasn’t a lot, but hate is one emotion Andrew doesn’t have much trouble with.

Surprisingly.

Right now though, Andrew hates how much of a complete dumbass is.

“Fuck.” Neil shouted from the floor, where two cats are currently running all over his small figure, an open bag of cat litter spilling all over the floor. 

He had only left alone this idiot for one  _ fucking _ minute to go grab his lighter, and he comes back to this mess. He should’ve predicted something like this would’ve happened, trouble seemed to follow Neil everywhere,

_ (Something that Andrew was afraid of, will probably always be afraid of, is that he’s part of that trouble. That Neil is just a fucking magnet for bad people and Andrew is one of them. But he’s not ever going to tell him this, not even going to admit it to himself. Not yet.) _

Andrew takes a deep breath before putting on his cool facade. He rolls his eyes and says, “I left you for one minute,” ever so cooly.

Neil is still pinned under Cat 1 and Cat 2 (Andrew refuses to call them by the ridiculous names that Nicky came up for them), and his eyebrows are furrowed slightly. Somehow, there is still a lazy smile across his face and Andrew feels a small irk of irritation at that.

“Don’t blame me, blame King and Sir. I was just trying to change their litter.” Neil defends himself jokingly, and even a little breathily from the cats sitting on top his lungs at the moment. Good.  _ (Andrew hates himself for feeling a slight wave of arousement from the breathy tone his boyf-, no, his  _ _ nothing,  _ _ just spoke in.) _

“The broom is in the closet,” Andrew says promptly, ignoring Neil’s defensive,  _ I know where the broom is _ , and continues. “Cat 1, come here.”

Andrew kneels down and taps the floor with his index finger. Cat 1, the fat one, quickly moves off of Neil and practically sprints into Andrew’s arms. Andrew feels a slight  _ something _ , maybe a slight warmth, when Cat 1 secures himself in Andrew’s arms but he would never say that aloud.

Andrew stands up and leaves the room, holding the cat in his arms. As he’s leaving he hears Neil’s indignant squawk, and he  _ also _ refuses to ignore the feeling that produced. Because Andrew Minyard does not feel anything other than anger. It’s a fact. 

_ Sometimes facts can be debunked, especially when there wasn’t enough proof behind them,  _ a small voice in the back of his head reminds him. He ignores it, choosing to stroke the mess of fluff in his arms instead.

He goes into their bedroom, setting Cat 1 on Neil’s side of the bed. He crouches down so he’s at eye-level with the cat. They stare at each other for a couple seconds.

“Stay here.” Andrew commands, knowing fully that chances are that the cat will do the exact opposite. Stupid cats. He didn’t even want them in the first place.

The cat stares at him with a hint of defiance in his eyes, and Andrew stares back even more resilience. The seconds past by, and turn into minutes, until Andrew decides he can’t be bothered with this.

He stands up, taking one last look at the cat. “If you’re going to shit, do it in Kevin’s clothes.”

He grabs his cigarette pack lying on the windowsill, and tugs at his armbands making sure they are still in place. He dusts off some of the leftover cat hair on them, before contemplating whether or not he needs a jacket. He decides against it, obviously, because he’s experienced worse than a little cold.

He feels his back pocket to make sure his lighter is still there before stalking out of the room. He goes up the stairwell leading to the roof, his heart pounding the way up. Every single  _ fucking _ time he walks up this staircase, his heart begins to race and his anxiety goes wild and he absolutely hates it. 

Once he reaches the top, he takes a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He opens the door to the roof, and when the heavy metal slams back into place he barely even flinches. Bee would be proud.

As soon as he spots the ledge, he sees a head full of auburn hair sans cat. Even if Neil had a different, more usual hair colour, Andrew knows he would be able to spot him anyways. Andrew would know it’s Neil simply by his posture, the way he carries himself, the way he sits down with his legs spread ever so slightly apart. Not because he cared or anything. Only because of his eidetic memory, of course.

He goes to stand next to Neil. He pulls out his lighter from his pocket before sitting, lighting his cigarette while seating himself. He takes a long drag from in, revelling in the harsh smoking making the back of his throat burn.

He can feel Neil’s eyes boring through the back of his head, and he turns to look at him.

“Staring.” He quips, knowing and hating the fact that there is an involuntary quirk of his lips.

“Yes or no?” Neil asks in return. Andrew looks at him with caution.

“To what?”

“Just me leaning my head on your shoulder.” Neil replies with, his own cigarette burning through quickly on his fingers.

Andrew nods, and feels himself not _not_ -relax at the sudden warmth at his side. 

“You smell like cat litter.” 

“You love it.”

Andrew grunts in return, adding this to the list of reasons why he hates Neil Josten.


End file.
